


in life, the monsters win

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Jagged Little Tapestry [8]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Marriage, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 05:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11960376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: In which Caroline trades her wolf cloak for a lion one and perhaps finds something of a song after all.





	in life, the monsters win

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is for Lenna (AKA lynyrdwrites/Lynyrd Lionheart) because I totally misunderstood what she meant when she said she wanted a Caroline Stark AU for Klaroline AU week. But the good thing is, she likes Game of Thrones too. So, all’s good and hope you guys enjoy! Fair warning, some of the lines from this drabble are from Game of Thrones and A Storm of Swords. Thank you so much to my Skype girls (you know who you are – Dee, Megan, Jo, Sarah) for putting up with my stupidly pedantic questions!

Red.

 _Mikaelson_  red, Caroline thought with disgust, staring at the gown that hung from post above her bed. She squinted, kneeling quite unceremoniously, in front of it, and realised with outrage and contempt that swirling around the hem of the dress, was a garish depiction of a lion  _eating_ a wolf.

It marked her as one of them.

A  _Mikaelson_.

She hated it.

She hated the Queen.

She hated her spiteful, sadistic son, the King.

She hated the Hand of the King, a solemn, scheming, intimidating man that looked down upon everyone as if they were worth nothing more that the sludge that trickled to the bottom of Blackwater Bay.

She even hated the reprobate, derelict brother that she had barely spoken to – the one that would drape a Mikaelson cloak over her shoulders today at the Sept.

She hated all of them.

She dreamt of it sometimes, how it would feel to just take the knife off the table at dinner and stab the royal mongrel in the hand, whether he would scream or cry. In any case, she would be happy. Oh, she smiled and she simpered and coyly fluttered her eyelashes and she called Kai her ‘one true love’ and her King, but in her head, she was thinking  _one day, I’m going to take this knife and put it through your eye and out the back of your skull, you cunt_. Whether she meant Kai, who chopped her father’s head off, or Freya, who took advantage of her naivety and her admiration for the Southern queen and her childish desire for a song in her life to trick her and turn her against her own blood, or Mikael, who had her mother and brother murdered in cold blood at a wedding, she didn’t know. But she was sure it applied to all of them.

The red silk of the hem slipped out of her fingers just as quickly as she picked up the hem. The gold-plated corset and the metal lion engraved in great detail mocked her, making her lips twist in disdain.

She was no lion.

She was a wolf.

She was Caroline Forbes, a wolf of the North. Her brother – dear, sweet Stefan – was a King and he would come and save her. Like the games they used to play as a child, she was always the damsel in the tower and him and Enzo – the brother she was never quite as good at loving – her knights in the song she wove for herself.

Like when Mason rode down south to save Jenna from the evil dragons.

 _But he burned for it_ , Caroline thought, morosely.  _I won’t have Stefan die for me_.  _Even if I have to bear the touches of the bastard lion._

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling at her side.

_A wolf from the North. I am a wolf from the North._

“Camille, I need you in here.” Caroline called out, her voice firm and unwavering.

Camille entered the room, her normally kind, expressive face disgruntled for no apparent reason once her eyes passed over the wedding dress that hung from the top of Caroline’s bed.

“Yes, milady?” Camille mumbled, her head cast down.

Caroline sighed. “Help me put this dratted thing on,” She gestured to the dress. “Wouldn’t want to insult my soon-to-be husband, my one true love.” She said, coldly, her lip curling with disgust at the mere thought.

Camille faltered at her words, but continued to pull down the dress from the post that hung over the bed, placing the rich red cloth and spreading it over the bed.

“Would you prefer to have the dress on first, or shall I do your hair, milady?” Camille asked her.

“I’ll have the dress on first.” Caroline snorted after a moment. “What do I care whether it is ruined or not?” She muttered.

Camille paused, awkwardly, unsure of what to say in the face of Caroline’s bitterness. “It is a lovely dress, milady.” She pointed out.

“A lovely dress?” Caroline said, scathingly. “It is a chain, with which Freya will lead to me to the altar in the sept and give me to yet another Mikaelson responsible for murdering my family, just so Mikael can have his foothold in the North if, by chance, they manage to kill Stefan, and so Kai can be rest assured that his favourite toy is still in his vicinity once he marries the Lady Davina.” She sank her teeth into her lower lip. “The dress is my undoing.”

“But has Lord Niklaus not been kind to you?” Camille asked, quietly, moving over to stand behind Caroline once she had taken her place in front of the mirror.

Caroline’s lips pursed. She thought of the day when Kai had his Kingsguard stooges beat her in front of the court, rip her dress to the waist and bare her flesh to the entire assembly, the honour of his wife-to-be besmirched by his own hand. The tears were wet on her cheeks, pain brimming from her bruised stomach and knees where she had already been hit, and Ser Julian stood above her, white cloak, golden armour looming above her, the hilt of his sword poised to strike, when the doors to the throne room and stormed open, and Niklaus Mikaelson had strode in, his face etched with anger –  _in her name,_ she had thought with wonder –, accompanied by his sword sword, Marcellus.

Dark, spitting words had been directed at Julian, who had slunk away with a sneer, and he had climbed up the stairs in the throne room until he was barely a breadth away from where Kai stood, crossbow hanging limply at his side while the boy looked everywhere but his furious uncle’s blue eyes, an awkward, yet frustrated and resentful look on his face. When Niklaus had shoved him back against his throne and snatched the crossbow from the boy King, Kai had looked up at him and opened his mouth, obviously to shout or rage at the injustice of a King – no matter how green he was – being told what to do by his illegitimate half-uncle – only a Mikaelson by the grace of his grandfather, or so he thought – no one was quite sure exactly what had happened between Mikael and Esther Mikaelson upon the revelation of Niklaus’ true parentage, but many a rumour had made its way across the lands – but all Niklaus had to do was look at the boy with a sharp, unforgiving look in his eyes and his tongue was falling silent, sinking back against the Iron Throne, wincing when sharp iron blades dug into his skin and drew blood.

He then turned to Tyler Lockwood, who Kai affectionately called ‘Dog’, the King’s bodyguard and servant, and ordered him to wrap his white cloak around Caroline’s shivering, humiliated, practically topless form. Lockwood, whose face was blank and cold, stepped down from the King’s side and draped his large cloak over Caroline’s shoulders, practically swathing her in the white. Tears wetted her cheeks and she looked up, Niklaus’ apologetic blue eyes staring down at her, a hand upturned mere inches away from her face. She schooled her face into a mask she inwardly commended herself for, and took his hand, allowing her to raise her to her feet, tightening the cloak around her even though her honour and her modesty lay in tatters around her. She curled her hand around his forearm, nails scratching against his red doublet, as they walked through the throngs of people, the Court scattering to make way for them, and he led her to the door.

His kind words had her stomach clenching with equal measures of hope and suspicion: “Do you want an end to this engagement?”

She had turned to him with a questioning look.

“I am to be King Malachai’s loyal and loving wife, my one true love, my lord, why would I ever want to leave?” Her query was unassuming and seemingly genuinely confused, but her words were dead, mirroring what she felt instead.

Niklaus’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Caroline Forbes, I believe you may just survive us yet.” His voice was awed and proud.

Whether he knew she had heard his parting words, she didn’t know. But they filled her with a strange sort of warmth. A warmth that she carried with her to this day, amidst beatings and jeers and cold insults and the memory of her father’s head dropping to the floor on the Sept of Baelor in front of hundreds of people who  _hated_  a man they had never even spoken to and the warm, wet blood splattering on her dress and all she could see was  _black and death and pain and when she woke up, her father’s head was on a spike and Kai was laughing_.

She had dreamt of his blue eyes and not-smile for nights after the incident in the throne room.

And now she was to be his wife.

But anything would be better than marrying Kai.

She would suffer the bastard rutting between her thighs a hundred times over if it meant that she wouldn’t have to let Kai inside her, where he could finally come through on all of his depraved promises.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, the neatly embroidered wolf on the grey brocade of her dress catching her attention.

After today, she would no longer be a wolf. She would be a lion.

The same as the monsters who had taken her beloved father away from her, and forced her to live as a prisoner in the walls of the Red Keep, so that they may torture her when they please.

“How would you like your hair, milady?” Camille asked, quietly, snapping her out of her contemplation.

“Down. Leave it down.”

 _I have played Freya’s fool too long._ She thought, coldly.  _If I have to surrender to the Mikaelsons today, I will do it as a Forbes and not as one of these Southern idiots._

“Very well, milady.”

The rest of the preparation passed by in a daze, Caroline sucking in a breath when Camille tightened the clasps of the armoured dress around her, the metalwork on the bodice leaving her cold and hurting. The sleeves were wide and billowing and dropped straight to her knees, Caroline having to roll up the rich red fabric to stare at her wrists. Once Camille had finished tying up the laces at the back and settled a cold golden necklace sharply and tightly around her neck –  _like a collar_ , she thought, a sick feeling churning in her stomach, Caroline stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes unable to be drawn away from the lion engraved on the tip of the metal corset, and another one on the necklace Niklaus had so  _kindly_  given her to wear with the dress.

She did look  _nice_ , she admitted, grudgingly.

There was a knock on the door and she turned, dread sinking into her stomach. Camille looked at her, hesitantly, waiting for her nod of acquiescence, before walking over to the door and carefully opening it. Kai stood in the doorway, a particularly thrilled smirk on his handsome face.

“Ah, Caroline, good. You’re ready.” Kai’s eyes roved over her and Caroline shifted, uncomfortably, disliking the way his eyes turned on the way her dress dipped in front of her cleavage and the curve of her waist. “Well, it’s time to go. Mustn’t keep my uncle waiting.” His eyes glinted with amusement at a joke that could only be humorous to him.

Inwardly, Caroline was imagining what it would be like to bash him over the head with nearest blunt object and watch him wither on the ground in pain.

But, as she was the perfect prisoner, she nodded, lifting the skirts of her dress, before proceeding out of the door, Kai nattering at her side with more sadistic musings about her suffering.

Once they stood in the archway to the sept, Kai held out his arm, expectantly.

Caroline stared at it with distaste.

“What are you  _doing_?” She asked, confused and disgust and shock-awed.

“Your father’s dead, girl, remember?” Kai said, cheerfully. “As the father of the realm, and as you are my ward, it is my duty to give you away to your new husband.”

She buried down the fury, swiftly, before she did anything foolish – like kill him – and let him lead her down the steps of the sept and through the path between the throngs of court, her heart clenching with every step she took towards the altar. Marcellus, her soon-to-be husband’s sworn sword nodded at her, comfortingly, and she graced him with a small smile.

It was then that she mustered up the courage to stare at the solemn figure that stood next to the Septon on the highest step of the altar.

His face was turned to the side, not giving her much of a view of his face. She had seen him before, of course, but she knew that the sight of him standing, stoically, at the altar, the cascades of a red cloak, emblazoned with a lion in gold stitching, draped over one arm, would be etched into her memory for the rest of her life.

Kai led her to the altar and dropped her beside Niklaus, before sending his uncle a triumphant gleeful smile, to which Niklaus gave a withering, warning look that wiped the smile off Kai’s face, much to Caroline’s pleasure.

Once she was standing beside him, both their heads turned towards the Septon in front of them, their arms practically touching, an agonising, painful breath twisted out of her in resignation.

Kai stepped up behind her, Caroline cringing at his proximity, and, with a flourish, swept aside her maiden’s cloak of grey –  _her father’s colours_  – as if he really were Lord Zachary Forbes. Her teeth gritted in fury and resentment as his hands brushed a breast and left a lingering squeeze. From the corner of her eye, she could see her soon-to-be husband’s jaw tighten with matching rage at the King’s presumptuous gesture – on her wedding day, nonetheless.

“You may now cloak the bride with your protection.”

Niklaus nodded at the Septon, stiffly, before turning towards her.

Caroline turned her body to the side, with a swish of her skirts across the marble floor.

She took in a deep breath.

And then he draped his red Mikaelson cloak over her stiff shoulders.

And Caroline released the breath she was holding.

It was done.

She turned to face the Septon once again, her posture mirrored by her husband, her face paler than it had been prior to the cloak on her shoulders.

The Septon looked over their shoulders at the crowd at the bottom of the steps.

“Your Graces, my lord,” He nodded at Kai, Freya and Mikael, before turning glazed eyes over the mass of people. “My lords and ladies, we stand here, in the eyes of gods and men, to witness the union between man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul-”

Caroline supposed that the words would have been romantic in any other setting – in fact, the old Caroline, the one whose father was still alive, would have thought them to be the sweetest thing to hear, maybe as a precursor to the union between her and her one, true love, Kai –, but the Septon’s monotone and her vivid awareness of the man standing beside her, all she could feel was the sick churning in her stomach.

Caroline’s hand slid up of its own accord, already knowing what was about to happen. There was a brief moment before Niklaus’ hand settled on top of hers, his palm warm and steady and somewhat comforting. The Septon threaded a red silk ribbon around their joined hands.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” The Septon motioned for them to face each other, once he had unraveled the ribbon that bound their hands together. “Look upon each other and say the words.”

Caroline licked her lips, nervously.

Niklaus’ lips quirked up at the corners.

“Father, Smith, Warrior. Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband”.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.”

With a confident step forwards, Niklaus leaned into her, cupping her jaw with one hand, and kissed her hard, much to her surprise. His mouth was soft and warm, but firm with promise and she felt a stirring low in her belly, a flush rising up her neck. She felt his answering smile against her lips at her reaction, and she pulled away, self-consciously, smoothing down her skirts before anyone could think her less than proper.

“Let it be known that Caroline of House Forbes and Niklaus of House Mikaelson are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

When she turned around with him to face the rest of the congregation, as they clapped and cheered as if this was the best occasion of their lives, she smiled as if she really were a blushing bride, who loved her new husband more than anything and everything. Only the quivering of her mouth alerted anyone to the fear that had seeped into her bones.

 _They shall never let me go_. She realised, dully.

This was the end of her life.

They had even taken the name Forbes from her.

She was a Mikaelson – a lion, now.

“You look  _glorious_ , my lady.” Klaus hummed in her ear, bringing her out of her haze and making her shiver – although, not in disgust, much to her surprise. “I was correct; you surpass my sister in every way.” He chuckled.

Caroline flickered a smile, but not to his face.

When she saw the eager looks on those waiting at the foot of the altar, she almost felt like she could faint as the anxiety returned to her in a wave.

“ _Breathe_ , wife,” He murmured, his hand steady on her arm, as he led her down the steps of the altar. “And drink some wine as soon as possible. You’ll need it to get through  _this_.” He said, dryly.

She turned to look at him, sharply, with a raised eyebrow, seeing only amusement flickering on his face.

Niklaus Mikaelson –  _her husband_  – was a tall, strong man with blonde curls groomed closed to his skull, cornflower-blue eyes and a hint of dishevelled stubble across his jaw, which she briefly wondered whether would hurt her or cause a pleasing touch.

 _He is a handsome man_ , Caroline thought, reluctantly. It would not be a great suffering to let him between her thighs.

“You look very handsome, my lord.” Caroline said, quietly, wanting to say anything that would make this interlude between them less awkward.

Niklaus’ lips twitched in amusement as he looked down at his own red doublet and breeches. “Ah, yes, the husband of your dreams.” He said, sarcastically.

“More like my nightmares.” Caroline muttered under her breath, and then turned to look at him with wide eyes and a shaking head, apologies spilling in hushed murmurs from her lips. “Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to- I’m afraid the nerves have gotten to me- please accept my sincere apologies-”

“Peace, Caroline,” Niklaus squeezed the hand that was tucked into his elbow. “If you pretended to be one of those grating, simpering hens from court, I’d be rather displeased. You should be able to say what you please to me. You’ve more than earned  _that_  right. Not that you should have to earn any rights with me.” He said, darkly.

Caroline touched his arm with more concern that she thought she had in her.

He patted her hand, comfortingly. “Nothing to worry about, wife. Shall we attend the feast now?”

On their across the Sept, Freya’s eyes met Niklaus’ and they conveyed an extent of hatred and heartless glee that Caroline had only ever seen in the Queen’s eyes in relation to her.

“My lord?” Caroline asked, carefully.

There was a bitter smile on Niklaus’ face. “Freya always felt as thought she shouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of having a bastard half-brother, let alone one raised beside her, as if we were equals. It is an indignity that she cannot and absolutely refuses to bear.”

Caroline’s brow furrowed.

Niklaus’ smile turned sharp. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I am my mother’s bastard and it seems my sister has followed in her illustrious footsteps.” He said, mockingly.

Caroline didn’t know what to say to that. Perhaps the Mikaelson family weren’t as golden as they wanted to be.

The wedding feast went by like a dream – a nightmare – until Henrik, with all the grace of a ten-year-old, was leading her around the dance floor with a determined look on his face as he stared at their feet, Caroline watching with amusement and fondness for the kind little prince –  _nothing like his mother or brother_ , she thought. Caroline felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on their ends when Kai appeared out of nowhere, behind his little brother.

“Go away, Henrik.” Kai ordered. “I think I’d like to have my dance with our new aunt.” His smile positively sickened her.

Caroline stiffened when his arm wrapped around her waist and he brought her close.

“Dear, sweet Caroline, you shouldn’t look so sad.” He said, mockingly. “It’s your wedding day. And you should muster all your strength for the night to come.” He waggled his eyebrows. “My uncle is lowborn and crass, but I’ve heard he is an excellent lover. Very much capable of breaking your maidenhead and pleasing you. And if he doesn’t, you’ll still have me.”

“You are to marry Davina.” Caroline said through gritted teeth.

“I am.” Kai agreed. “But who says that I can’t have you as my whore.” Caroline’s face went red. “I would not be the first King to do so. My father had whores. And one of the Petrovas had a lot of whores. A lot of whores and a lot of bastards.” He dipped his head down and gave her a wet kiss where not hours ago, his uncle had treated her so gently and kissed her so sweetly. “This is a dream come true for you, isn’t it? A Mikaelson husband, a Mikaelson baby in the future. Of course, what should it matter if the Mikaelson baby soon to be in your belly is from this Mikaelson or another? Would you like me to visit you tonight after my uncle has had his fill of you, darling?” He asked, kindly.

Caroline squared her shoulders, but kept her mouth shut.

“You wouldn’t?” A pout formed along Kai’s face. “Don’t worry,” He said, dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll be more amenable to the idea once Ser Julian is holding you down.”

With that, he pulled away from her and clapped his hands, briskly, drawing the attention of everyone, especially his uncle’s suspicious eyes, who had caught sight of the way his new wife’s hands had shaken once his nephew had taken her into his arms.

“Everyone!” He called out, cheerfully. “Time for the bedding ceremony.

Niklaus’ fingers lingered on the hilt of the sword at his hip, from where he sat at the head table. He hadn’t moved from there all night. “There will be no bedding.” He said, coldly, staring at his nephew with hard, fierce eyes.

Kai scoffed. “You have no respect for tradition, uncle.” He turned to the guests, leading Caroline to the centre of the room, unwillingly, by the hand. “Come, everyone, carry her off!” He gestured to her gown. “Get the gown off her, let’s see what the she-wolf bride has to offer my uncle.”

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Niklaus repeated, quietly.

“There will be, if I command it.” Kai retorted.

A knife twisted in Niklaus’ hand and with a graceful flick of his wrist, he slammed it into the table top, much to Caroline’s surprise and admiration.

“ _I said_ ,” Niklaus growled, lowly, his eyes flashing, looking more like the wolf Caroline claimed to be. “ _There will be no bedding_.” He slid to his feet, a prowling lion once again, all sleek and sure of himself, brimming with power that had Caroline biting her lip as desire surged through her. “If you continue this, I’ll geld you. I swear it.”

No-one spoke. The whole hall was silent.

His words were a promise and Caroline witnessed a flicker of fear on Kai’s face, something which she took great delight in.

“What did you  _say_?” Kai shrieked, storming up to the table.

Niklaus leaned over. “You  _heard_  me.” He hissed.

Mikael’s voice broke through the tension. “I believe we can dispense with the bedding, Your Grace. I’m sure Niklaus did not mean to threaten the King.” He said, pointedly, staring at Niklaus with distaste.

Niklaus paused and his face softened, flickering with amusement. “Forgive me, I misspoke. You see, I’m very protective of this sweet wife you’ve given me. How many men of my birth can claim to have lain with someone so beautiful and noble? I don’t want anyone but me to see her charms.” He crooned. He frowned down at his empty wine glass. “I may have also had a bit too much to drink.” He shook his head. “Nevertheless, I have a job to do.” He walked around the table, taking Caroline’s arm. “Come, wife, let’s go play come-into-the-castle.”

After Niklaus led her through a multitude of corridors until they came to his chamber, Caroline had coiled herself up tight, not only because of the humiliation she had just suffered at her own wedding feast, but the act she would have to suffer through soon enough.

Caroline hesitated before walking inside, and Niklaus shut the door behind her, going straight to the wine cask that sat on his table, downing another glass in one, long gulp.

“Are you sure you need another glass, my lord?” Caroline asked, quietly.

“My name is Niklaus, Caroline.” He said, gently. “But I find myself growing tiresome of that one too. Call me Klaus. All the best people in my life do so.”

“Klaus.” Caroline agreed. “Would you have me undress or would you like to do it yourself?”

Niklaus cocked his head. “My lord Father has commanded me to consummate this marriage.” He grimaced.

Caroline nodded, walking over to the table and pouring herself a glass of wine for her nerves. She took a long, deep swig and moved to unfasten the clasps at the back of her armoured corset.

“Stop.”

She turned to him, questioningly. “My lord?” Her eyes widened. “Klaus, I mean.” She stammered.

“I can’t.” Niklaus closed his eyes. “I mean, I won’t.”

“But your father-” Caroline began to protest.

“My father should go fuck  _himself_  if he wants someone to be fucked.” Niklaus said, witheringly. “I am not a nice man, Caroline. I have done awful, terrible things to many people. But I can be better than a man who forces his wife into bed.”

Caroline ducked her head down, unsure of what to say to his unforeseen show of compassion. She was more surprised by the surge of affection she felt towards her new husband.

“And that would be alright?” Caroline whispered. “You are my lord husband, and I have my duty-”

“You have  _no_  duty to me, Caroline.” Niklaus said, firmly. “My family has done enough to you that it is  _I_  that must pay a debt to you now. And a Mikaelson always pays their debts.”

Caroline swallowed hard.

“I know what you must think of me, Caroline.” Niklaus said, simply, holding his hands out in surrender. “I am the uncle of the boy who has tortured you out of some twisted pleasure. I am a Mikaelson, and in your eyes, that must make a villain. But if you believe something about me regarding our situation, please believe that I did not ask for this. I  _would not_  have asked for this.”

Caroline bit her lower lip. “I… hope that I have not offended you, my lord. I apologise if I have.” She ducked her head down once again.

Niklaus took an uncertain step towards her. “No,” He said, heavily. “You have not offended me. Forgive me, my lady. Once again, in an attempt to comfort you considering this frankly callous occasion my father is forcing us to go ahead with, I have managed to upset you.” He murmured.

“No-no.” Caroline stammered, inwardly cursing herself for sounding so hesitant and childish and  _weak_.

What did she care what he thought of her?

Those blue, blue eyes – lovely that they were – that burned with sincerity and intensity did not entirely diminish the pain and humiliation of being forced to marry into the family that had destroyed  _hers_.

But they were an unexpected comfort.

“My family has caused you a great deal of pain, Caroline.” Niklaus said, solemnly. “We have taken much from you and you have bore a number of atrocities in silence. Marrying me… could not have been something you dreamed of, or even accepted wholeheartedly. But…” He hesitated, wanting her to read the sincerity of his words. “I will  _never_  hurt you.” He swore. “I give you my word, if you can bring yourself to believe the word of a Mikaelson.” He joked, lightly.

Caroline cracked a smile.

“If…” She fidgeted awkwardly. “You have no need of me tonight, my–Klaus, with your leave, I shall bed down for the night.”

“You are no longer a prisoner, my lady.” Niklaus shook his head. “You are my wife. Although,” He smirked. “Some would say that is an entirely different prison on its own.” He frowned. “Nonetheless, you can do as you like. I am here to protect you now.”

Caroline shifted, awkwardly.

“You are sure, then?” She asked, once more. She didn’t quite believe if this was a test or not, whether he wanted to judge her loyalty to him, to the Mikaelsons, to the King. “I have my duty and it is my pleasure to-”

“I will not come to your bed until you call me there, Caroline.” Niklaus said, solemnly.

Caroline chewed on her lip. “And if I never call?” She asked, quietly, trepidation sinking into her bones.

She fingered the wolf pendant at her throat for strength.

Niklaus shrugged, such an odd gesture for a man born into such wealth as a Mikaelson from the French Quarter – a golden lion with humility, she would never have thought.

“Then, I shall never come.” He said, gently.

That night, both of them slept in the same bed, each to one side. But sometime during the night, Caroline found herself turning around, seeking warmth, and burrowed herself into Niklaus’ side, his arm winding around her waist, his lips pressed against her silken hair.


End file.
